Jenna Jeers the Jabbed

A(nother) poetic ode to epic insanity

The seed of this Substack was planted with a post I wrote for the FLCCC (later shared by Dr. Pierre Kory, whose book The War on Ivermectin, you may recall, I had the honor of co-authoring). The title was Morton Sues the Who, and it was—per Dr. Kory—“A Seussian poem about the plight of a vaccinated man.”

I think we can all agree plight was putting it lightly.

Anyway, as I was trolling for fodder for today’s column, it seemed the singular story the lamestream media deemed worthy of reporting on over the weekend was Trump’s (rude, disrespectful, vile, probably made in China) funeral suit.

You see, it’s customary [albeit not obligatory] for world leaders to wear black to a papal celebration of life. Trump wore blue. Cue the liberal hysteria. Never mind that half of Biden’s assigned-male-at-birth cabinet probably would have shown up in miniskirts and stilettos; that’s not the point. We’re talking about Trump and how despicable he is, okay?

“For men, dark suit with a long black tie and a button of the same color on the left lapel of the jacket, where only Vatican honors can be placed,” Holy City protocol goes. “For women, a black dress, preferably long, of the same color as gloves and veil on the head, with the only allowed ornament being a string of pearls.”

Of course, scores of internet sleuths were quick to add context to the widely shared photo above—one that was clearly cropped within an inch of its life to highlight the Orange Man’s unforgivable fashion gaffe.

Practically an ocean of blue. Weird.

It’s worth pointing out that Prince William also wore a blue suit, Biden sported a navy necktie, and Ukrainian cabaret queen and professional panhandler Volodymyr Zelensky—unshockingly—didn’t even don a noose at all. But Trump’s blue was bluer than anyone else’s. And he had the nerve to wear an American flag pin! His wife dressed appropriately, so there’s no excuse. Plus, he’s Trump. The lynch mobs live for this stuff.

Pretty sure they save this as a fill-in-the-blank headline template.

The point is, I found the whole thing exhausting and frustrating and how many times can one person point out how unreliable, biased, and just plain worthless the media is? My number was a million minus one, so I decided to put on my poetess hat and write another little Covid-y ditty for my fun-loving followers.

Without further ado, please enjoy Jenna Jeers the Jabbed.

They lined up like cattle and rolled up their sleeves

for donuts doled out by government thieves.

They cheered and they shouted, “Just trust us! Obey!”

While I sipped kombucha and stayed far away.

They mocked and they cursed and they called me a quack;

a mean, grandma-killing, conspiracy hack.

They snickered in smugness, they cackled with glee—

“You’ll die in a week!” (Oops, that wasn’t me.)

They wanted the whole world to take what they took;

declining it made you a certified kook.

“You need to get poked so that my poke can work!

It’s science, you ignorant, anti-vax jerk.”

They pushed it, they shoved it, they sold it with flair.

“It’s safe and effective and free everywhere!”

They printed out stickers, they danced in the streets.

“Get the jab, you’ll be fine, just keep eating those sweets!”

People keep keeling; their hearts going splat,

but no one’s allowed to say much about that.

The news plays it silent, the fact-checkers spin,

'cuz questioning Pharma’s a cardinal sin.

“Oh no, it’s genetic.” “Oh no, it’s my fate.”

“Oh no, it’s just stress.” (No, friends—it’s too late.)

They’re sick and they’re sicker; their tickers are taut,

yet none of them wants to admit IT’S THAT SHOT.

But hey, they got T-shirts, and selfies, and cash,

while I worked on growing my supplement stash.

“You’ll be sorry,” they spat, “Don’t come crying to me

when you die of that virus 'cuz you’re not smart like we!”

But I didn’t regret it; not then and not now.

(I’ve managed to outrun the reaper somehow!)

And still I’m the bad guy, the person they hate

for having the nerve to decide my own fate.

So, no, I’m not sorry. And no, I won’t break.

There’s no needle on earth that I’d willingly take.

They trusted The Science™ and gave up the reins

and now they’ve got gobbledy-goo in their veins.

Folks still getting boosted and wearing your masks,

I have just one small gigantical ask:

Read a book, get outside, and turn off CNN,

then go find a conspiracy buddy (or ten).

They’ll break down the ugly, nefarious plot.

(If you want, they’ll reveal what was in your last shot!)

They’ll help you break up with the poison machine

and welcome you into the homesteading scene.

They won’t hold a grudge! They’ll be glad you’re alive!

They positive-lutely will help you to thrive.

They’ll teach you to question and say no to pokes

that’ll give you heart attacks, blood clots, and strokes.

So, come join the wacky! The crazy! The bold!

We’ll laugh at the madness and lies we’ve been told.

We’ll live our best lives with no clot shots in sight.

(While quietly gloating, “You see? We were right!”)

On a less lyrical note, a million actual thanks to those of you who have nominated yourselves for my Subscriber Spotlight! If you’re a paid subscriber (monthly or annual) and would like to be featured, click below for details. *I will likely start running these profiles on the weekends [curses annoying day job] unless I magically find a few extra hours in my week. Stay tuned! :)